Page 10 of Wrong Way

The images were clear. The metal rim of the sphere's housing was in direct contact with the internal framework, and the wiring from the transformer ran uninsulated to that framework through a short length that had been stripped of its protective sleeve.

"That stripping was also deliberate," Kowalski said. "Original wiring was insulated throughout. Someone opened the base, stripped a section, and made sure it was in contact with the metal structure."

"This required someone who knew what they were doing, right?" Miles said.

"That's putting it mildly. Our contractor said you'd need solid working knowledge of transformer circuit design, grounding systems, and how breaker loads are calculated. This wasn't someone who watched a couple of YouTube videos. They understood the electrical system well enough to make targeted modifications that achieved a specific outcome without leaving any visible sign of tampering on the exterior."

Miles stood and looked around the room again, taking in the setup as a whole. "How did they get access?"

"We don't know yet. Like we said, the door was unlocked but even when we looked, we could see no signs of forced entry. The lock on the front door is a standard deadbolt and it wasn't damaged. It's possible the transformer was accessed on a prior visit, either during business hours or after, but we haven't been able to establish that timeline yet." Kowalski led them back out to the front room, looking just as confused as Miles felt. "Now…here’s the part that made me call your office."

He stopped at the front counter and pointed to a small evidence marker on the surface beside the cash register. The note itself was no longer there, having been bagged and processed, but Kowalski pulled up an image on his phone and held it out for them.

It was a single index card, handwritten in small, even block letters. Miles read it twice.

The text was brief. It described fortune tellers and their kind as projectors of false light, as beings who mimicked the luminous to draw the credulous toward them. It used the phrase "charlatan glow" twice. It said that false light required extinguishing, not from hatred but from a responsibility to what was real. The last line read: "The element does not lie. It illuminates or it does not. There is no performance in the current."

Miles lowered the phone and looked at Vic. It was among the shorter manifestos they’d seen so far, but the link was unmistakable. This was one of Kane’s people.

"At first glance, I thought it might just be a disgruntled client or someone with a grudge against the occult community specifically," Kowalski said. "We've got a few of those types in every city. But the electrical sophistication didn't fit that profile, and then when we found the note..." He trailed off. "Your office came up."

"You were right to call," Miles said. He handed the phone back to Kowalski. "We're going to need the full forensic report, the electrical contractor's written assessment, and whatever you have on her client records and recent contacts."

"It’s already being compiled. I can have most of it to you by tonight." Kowalski looked between them. "So, this is one of Kane's?"

"Yes," Miles said, not even bothering to hesitate. "Yes, I think it is."

CHAPTER SEVEN

There was no FBI field office in Austin, so they followed Kowalski back to his precinct on Eighth Street. There, they were set up in a spare room off the main detective bullpen. The room held two folding tables, an aging printer, and a whiteboard that still had someone else's case notes on it in dry-erase marker. Kowalski had someone from maintenance and janitorial clear them a corner and gotten them credentials for the building's wi-fi. Miles and Vic had accepted this without comment because it was better than a rental car and a hotspot.

Vic had the forensic report and the electrical contractor's written assessment spread across the table in front of her. She was working through the technical sections methodically, her laptop open to a search on transformer circuit design. Miles watched her at work as she prepared to hop on a Zoom call with Sarah.

He and Vic had been working together for long enough that their rhythms were largely automatic by now. She moved through an unfamiliar workspace the same way she moved through a familiar one, efficiently and without complaint. And she had a quality during early stages of a case of being able to sit with incomplete information without forcing an idea. That was rarer than it sounded; Miles had worked with agents who needed to be doing something visible at every moment, who filled the silence with activity that looked like progress but wasn't. Vic wasn't like that. She read what was in front of her, thought about it, and waited until she had something worth saying.

He trusted her completely, which was not a thing he said lightly or had arrived at quickly. It had accumulated over time, through cases and airports and crime scenes all linked by one single maniac: Gabriel Kane.

The Zoom call connected, and Sarah's image was clear on his screen. They shared a quick, slightly private smile and then, as usual, Sarah dove immediately into work.

“Well, it seems like Donna Clements, also known as Madame Celestine, had quite the following," Sarah said. She had a second laptop open to her right and was reading from it. "She has consistent five-star reviews going back years, mostly on Yelp and Google. People describe her as warm, intuitive, someone who really listened. A few even mention that they are regulars who had been seeing her weekly." She looked up and gave a little shrug. "No complaints. No disputes on record, no legal trouble, not even a bad review that I can find. The community around her, the South Congress spiritual crowd, apparently loved her. And in terms of criminal records, she’s squeaky clean."

"Any personal relationships that you could find?” Miles asked. “Business partnerships, disputes?"

"I found a former business partner from about ten years ago. They co-ran a different shop before Celestine opened on her own. I reached out to the partner this morning and she said the split was completely amicable. She actually cried a little on the phone but managed to mostly keep it together. I also went through her social media. No public arguments, no beef with anyone, nothing that reads as a threat or a grievance. She posted tarot card readings and neighborhood events. Her last post was a photo of the South Congress bridge bats."

Miles looked at his own screen for a moment. "Enemies?"

"None that I can find."

"Well, that fits,” Vic said absently from the other side of the room, letting them know that she had been listening in as well.

Miles nodded in agreement. It wasn't entirely what he'd been hoping for, but it was what he had expected. A disciple who selected victims because of something he saw in them, or believed he saw, didn't need to know them. He didn't need to have been wronged by them. He needed a framework and a target, and Kane had given him the framework. "Keep pulling. I want to know if there's anything in her client records, specifically anyone who had a negative interaction or dispute."

"Kowalski's people are still working through those,” she said. “I'll coordinate with them on it."

"Good." He glanced across the table at Vic, who was running her finger along a paragraph in the contractor's assessment. "Anything on the transformer itself? The model, where it was purchased?"

"Still waiting on that," Sarah said. "Kowalski's forensics team sent the unit out for examination. The model number is visible in the photos from the scene, but I haven't been able to trace a purchase yet."